


and ev'ry battle must be ended

by wrennette



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Force-sensitive Jedhans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 22:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13040430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: in a universe a step to the left, the crew of Rogue One survives Scarif.





	and ev'ry battle must be ended

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this out long hand immediately after seeing rogue one the first time, and promptly misplaced it. a few months ago, i found it, but had long since lost my inspiration. transcribed and posting in celebration of rogue one's anniversary. thats all she wrote.

His ears rang and his pulse thundered in his head. Everything hurt. _I am the pilot_. I am the pilot, Bodhi told himself, and tried to rise. The world went silent white around Bodhi. Grenade. He remembered that. He tried again more slowly to move. His body felt - off. He had no words to describe the sensations he was experiencing. _I am the pilot_ he told himself, and dragged his protesting body from the wreckage of the Imperial cargo shuttle that was - had been - Rogue One.

Captain Andor, Jyn Erso, the Guardians, all the Rebel volunteers. He was their pilot. He had to find them a ship, a way off this planet. Bodhi dragged himself into the jungle planet’s undergrowth, only his strong instinct for survival keeping him moving.

* * *

Baze stared almost uncomprehendingly at the fallen Death Trooper and the blinking grenade in his fist. Grenade. Baze blinked, turning away, back to Chirrut. Milky blue eyes met Baze’s unerringly, the connection between them as strong as ever. 

Chirrut’s chest rose and fell in tiny, hitching increments, his mind locked away in a healing trance. Baze staggered trying to rise, his legs unable to support his weight. He shrugged off his heavy ammunition belt and the powerpack for his blastercannon, and crawled. Curling next to Chirrut, Baze matched their breathing almost without thought.

“I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” Baze murmured under his breath, his throat choked with pain and smoke. The pain receded beneath the mantra. Baze rose, bearing Chirrut up with him. Repeating his mantra - their mantra - Baze began to walk.

* * *

Cassian could feel his strength ebbing. Adrenaline had carried him to the pinnacle of the tower, had steadied his hand to protect the outgoing transmission. Now, his body, his will - both were failing him. The mission was complete, and there was little incentive to carry on. He could feel Jyn fading as well. Her stubborn persistence could only carry them so far.

The ocean stretched unendingly before them as the sandy beach rose to meet them. Hope, Cassian scoffed internally. Rebellions might be built on hope, but it could only carry them so far. At heart, Cassian was a pragmatist, so he told himself. Optimism wasn’t a luxury a man in his line of business could afford. That did not stop regret from welling bitterly in Cassian’s chest. 

“Your father would be proud of you,” Cassian slurred, leaning heavily against Jyn. The pain was muddling his head. Jyn swallowed audibly, looking out at the ball of lethal white light that expanded as death raced toward them.

* * *

“Oh kriff, oh kriff, oh kriff,” Bodhi heard distantly, in a vaguely familiar voice beneath the continual ringing in his ears and the pounding of his pulse. His face felt hot and stiff and slick at once, and he groaned quietly in pain as the world moved under him. Bodhi tried to blink, to open his eyes, but they didn’t respond. Neither did his fingers, his arms.

The world moved again, and through the agony, Bodhi was cognizant enough to understand he was in a transport of some kind. Hope bloomed bright and fragile in Bodhi’s battered heart. He was alive, and in Rebel hands. An Imperial Trooper would have simply put him out of his misery. As a former Imperial, Bodhi knew their standing orders well. Shoot to kill and take no prisoners, with very few exceptions.

The others, Bodhi wondered, his mind circling back to Cassian’s warm eyes; the way Jyn’s face lit at the mention of her father; Chirrut’s easy smile, and the wry quirk of Baze’s mouth, the easy way the two Guardians of Whill moved in each others space.

* * *

Jyn stared helplessly at the onrushing ball of expanding light. This was the end. She shifted slightly, bearing Cassian’s weight. He breathed, but shallowly, his head resting on her shoulder and fine dark hair brushing her cheek. This mission was the right thing, Jyn knew that distantly, and yet she almost wished she’d never been pulled from that prison transport. If she had never known these brave fighters, their loss wouldn’t pain her so much. If she had never seen her beloved father’s broken body, she could still imagine him somewhere out there among the stars. 

_Stardust_ , Jyn scoffed mentally. She would be only so much stardust when that shockwave reached them. Jyn sighed. At least it would be quick, she thought fatalistically. They would be vaporized in a flash of light between one breath and the next. 

“There is always hope, little sister,” Baze said gruffly, and Jyn jerked from her inward spiralling thoughts, turning to stare in wonder. The big Guardian was bleeding from multiple wounds, and carried Chirrut’s distressingly still form in his strong arms. Baze’s weapons had been abandoned, and the armour that had protected his torso was draped over Chirrut’s upper body. 

“Chirrut?” Jyn asked, her voice wobbling without her permission. Wear, she told herself adamantly, not fear. She tried to quell the hope that sparked in her chest. They were already dead, she told herself, remembering well the crushing wave of power turning NiJedha into rubble, and the deserts of Jedha into a sand tsunami.

“Sleeping, the lazy old goat,” Baze answered fondly, his gaze warm but worried as it rested in the man in his arms. His voice was thicker than usual, and some of it was likely pain, but Jyn thought she heard something more there too. Not for the first time she wondered as to the nature of their relationship, but then shunted her curiosity aside. It wasn’t her business, and she had learned well and early that it was best to mind her own business.

A high whine drew Jyn’s attention before she could pose further questions, and she raised her eyes, shielding them against the sun and sand and their impending doom to scan the too bright skies. A U-wing with a smoking engine limped into view and touched down heavily. A bandaged Stordan Tonc, one of the volunteers left with Bodhi on the landing pad, waved them in from the open cargo door. Hope welled up in Jyn again, and this time she didn’t fight it, instead letting it buoy her to her feet. Dragging Cassian with her, Jyn staggered to salvation, Baze and Chirrut at her side.

* * *

A mild concussion, ringing ears, a couple blaster grazes - that was the extent of Stordan’s injuries. The others were all worse off. Stordan had found the pilot - Bodhi, he reminded himself, the brave bastard deserved to be called by his name, Bodhi - dragging himself - burnt and blood-blinded - _dragging himself_ from the inferno of their ruined Imperial cargo transport. The same explosion had knocked Stordan from his feet, and he had almost been afraid to help Bodhi, unable to see a single patch of unburned skin.

Stordan had lifted Bodhi though, and carried him. A U-wing had stopped for them, and there had even been a med-droid aboard with bacta patches that soon swathed every inch of Bodhi’s visible skin, and quite a bit of Stordan’s. Despite the pain creeping in under the adrenaline, Stordan insisted the pilot take a slow, low flyover of the beaches and landing pads of Scarif base to see if they couldn’t save anyone else. His persistence had paid off when they found Captain Andor, Jyn Erso, and the Guardians of the Whills together.

Captain Andor was clearly hurting, drifting in and out of consciousness and bleeding from more than a few wounds. He leaned heavily on Jyn Erso, and was clearly unable to move under his own power. Jyn Erso was injured to a similar degree as Stordan himself. The others though.... They might not be in as desperate straits as Bodhi Rook, but they were gravely injured. Chirrut Imwe’s lower legs were bloody - little more than shredded flesh clinging to bone. 

When Baze’s armour was lifted from Chirrut’s torso, a deep blaster wound across his abdomen was exposed, blood and viscera gleaming slickly beneath his trembling hands as he held in his guts. Baze had a blaster wound through the meat of his lower leg, and the back of his head was burned to a bloody crisp. Stordan was amazed the longer-haired Guardian was able to stand at all, and even more impressed Baze was mobile and supporting Chirrut.

* * *

Jyn watched dazedly as the med-droid rolled back and forth, adhering and re-hydrating bacta patches. Most were spent on Bodhi, Baze, and Chirrut, but one of Cassian’s volunteers had survived as well, and Jyn wasn’t without injury herself. The U-wing shuddered to a few more stops, and each time a battered fighter or two limped or was dragged aboard. The med-droid beeped and whirred, and slowly the world flattened around Jyn.

She woke with a start as the medics tried to lift her onto a stretcher, and punched a nurse before full coherence returned. The others, more injured, had clearly been prioritized in the triage decisions, and already assisted from the transport. Jyn limped off under her own power after a brief argument, but between pain and stiffness, her injured leg soon gave way beneath her. Begrudgingly, Jyn accepted help, and was soon assisted into a spartan medical treatment room where her leg was wrapped in a brace and she was given a thorough exam.

With so many injured, Jyn was discharged almost immediately after being prescribed some painkillers, exercises, and bacta patches. What few bacta tanks the Rebels had were full, Jyn learned on the way out. She was soon rounded up by Intelligence, and spent the next few hours picking apart the battle. Jyn felt rather ill-equipped for the task though; she hadn’t seen much of the fighting, having been more concerned with securing the Death Star plans than anything else. She had seen battle, but only briefly, and any singular fighter’s viewpoint felt impossibly limited in scope.

* * *

Chirrut woke to pain. Pain and the steady feel of his beloved’s Force-presence. Baze lay still and sleeping at Chirrut’s side, his presence slightly muddled in Chirrut’s senses. He was drugged then, Chirrut theorized. They both were, in all likelihood. But Baze’s breathing was steady and even despite the chemicals in his system, his respiration by habit falling into the meditative cadence they had learned as acolytes in the temple on Jedha. 

Residual spiritual pain lanced through Chirrut at the thought of their lost home. Chirrut had lived in the Temple of the Kyber since infancy, and knew no family but the Guardians of Whills. He reached out unhesitatingly and laid his hand on Baze’s warm skin. The room smelled of bacta and disinfectant, but beneath that Chirrut could smell his beloved. They were alive, and while he did not _know_ , he assumed their mission was successful. All would be as the Force willed, of that, Chirrut was certain. 

Smiling softly, Chirrut let his breath fall into the same meditative pattern as Baze’s, and he began to contemplate the mysteries and will of the Force. He had thought they would all die on Scarif, and was pleased to be proven wrong. _I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me_ , Chirrut repeated under his breath, although he no longer truly needed the mantra. It was reassuring though, and for all his confidence that the Force wanted he and Baze to be together, to protect and care for one another, a little comfort drawn from the warm vitality of Baze’s skin didn’t go amiss.

Chirrut meditated until he heard Baze’s regular breathing hitch slightly. Letting his own healing trance slip away, and his mind settle into normal consciousness, Chirrut smiled. He listened in silence as Baze surfaced from the sedatives, using that time to fully take stock of his own injuries, which he had only vaguely registered before. 

The skin on his legs was new and tight below the knee. A deep wound stretched across his gut, pulling awkwardly at his skin and abdominal muscles. It would take time to recover his full strength, but Chirrut was certain he _would_ recover. And so too would Baze.

“Good day beloved,” Chirrut greeted cheerily as he heard Baze grunt in wakefulness. _His beloved grump_ , Chirrut thought with a smile.

“Chirrut,” Baze grit out, relief and pain mixed in his familiar warm tones. In that single utterance of his name, Chirrut knew his husband had perhaps rightly feared that death would separate them. Chirrut smiled calmly, and leaned over to tap Baze’s cheek.

“I would not leave you,” Chirrut chided gently, leaving his hand on Baze’s cheek to caress his smooth face. Baze had not been bare-cheeked and short-haired as a monk since leaving the Temple when the Empire stole their crystals and threw them into the streets of NiJedha nineteen Standard years before. Chirrut remembered well the awkwardness of Baze as a boy of thirteen even before that, his voice cracking and breaking as he recited his devotions, his face and head shaved each morning, his ears sticking out like jug handles on either side of his head. “The Force has brought us together, it would not separate us,” Chirrut reassured his beloved, certain in the rightness of their partnership.

“The Force is not benevolent,” Baze grumped, and Chirrut chuckled softly. 

“Nor is it malicious,” Chirrut argued without heat, this being an old and worn discussion among the Guardians, who unlike the outlawed Jedi Order acknowledged and accepted both sides of the Force. Baze let out an audible sigh, but did not continue the argument. He must be in a great deal of pain despite the drugs, Chirrut thought, to abandon their bickering after a single exchange. Chirrut wanted more than anything to rise and cross to the other bed, reassure himself more fully of Baze’s health. But Chirrut remained still, worried that perhaps he would hurt Baze further if he laid down alongside him.

“Tell me,” Chirrut demanded with quiet intensity, and Baze sighed again. 

“Blaster shot through one leg, another to the shoulder partially deflected by my powerpack. Some burns on my back, though again the powerpack protected me somewhat. Minor blast related concussion, but no skull fracture, just burnt the back of my head, they shaved off all my hair,” Baze related, his vocal tone and cadence steady until he mentioned his hair with a slight whinge. Chirrut snorted softly in amusement, knowing Baze had modulated his voice for just that purpose. 

“Your hair will grow back,” Chirrut murmured, again petting Baze’s beardless cheek. He felt Baze’s disgruntled frown beneath his fingers, and huffed softly in amusement. “Besides, you only grew your hair out to annoy the Temple elders.”

“That’s beside the point. I looked very handsome with long hair,” Baze grouched, and Chirrut smiled, tracing the curve of his beloved’s mouth.

“Yes, you did,” Chirrut agreed, because he had loved the feel of Baze’s long hair beneath his fingers, Baze’s scruffy beard beneath his lips even though it had represented the loss of Baze’s faith. Chirrut had loved washing and caring for Baze’s hair - for Baze. “But it will grow back, and you are handsome even without any hair at all.” He felt Baze smile slightly at that, and his own smile widened as Baze’s larger hand covered his, then shifted Chirrut’s hand a little so Baze could press a kiss to the soft center of Chirrut’s palm. 

“I am glad to wake with you at my side beloved,” Baze murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“All is as the Force wills it,” Chirrut answered, but they both knew he meant _me too_.

* * *

Baze groaned softly as he rose from the bed. Chirrut already sat in silent meditation on the floor of their small, shared space. It had been a Standard month since they went into battle on Scarif, a Standard week since Baze and Chirrut were finally released from the infirmary. In the interim the Rebellion had lost and then re-gained the Princess of Alderaan, Leia Organa and the plans for the Death Star, and finally destroyed the Death Star over Yavin IV, although only after Alderaan had been destroyed. Bodhi was still in an induced coma while his skin was regrown in the bacta tanks, his injuries having been the most grievous among the surviving volunteers of Rogue One. 

Chirrut and Baze himself had also needed a fair bit of skin regrown, a rather irritating process in Baze’s opinion, although necessary. The new skin on the back of his head, neck, and shoulders was incredibly itchy, but also impossibly tender. Just touching the shiny new skin hurt. The bacta had helped, it had helped immeasurably. Baze was well aware that without bacta, neither he nor Chirrut would have survived at all. 

With so many injured, only those worst off were given full immersion treatment. He had been in the tank for two full weeks, missing the battle entirely. Chirrut had been immersed for only about a week and a half - seven standard days. Cassian had only had three days of submersion, then bacta patches where there had been more persistent bruising on his back. From what the captain had said, he had been lucky to escape as lightly as he did, having fallen at least a story and only suffering bruising and a few broken ribs and cracked vertebrae. The fall could have easily snapped his neck.

* * *

“Visual data receptors online and functioning at ten - seventeen - forty three - seventy two - one hundred percent,” Bodhi heard a robotic voice recite distantly. It sounded tinny, distorted as if playing through very small speakers and very far away, and was further garbled by a persistent high pitched ringing. “Physical perception and proximity sensors online and twelve - fourteen - twenty five - thirty seven - fifty two - sixty four - ninety five - one hundred percent functional,” the voice continued. “All sensors active. The organic Bodhi Rook is raising its respiration.”

Bodhi blinked, then winced at the brightness of the light that seared into his eyes. The wince only told him just how injured he was. The skin on his face, neck, arms and chest felt new and tight, and he’d been burned enough before to know the sensation, even if it had never before covered such a large expanse of his body. Eyes closed once more, Bodhi wriggled his fingers and toes, and sighed in relief when all twenty responded. It was only then that he realized someone was calling his name with increasing intensity. 

Slowly, Bodhi opened his eyes. The room was still disorientingly bright, but this time the light was haloed around the head of Cassian Andor. Joy flooded through Bodhi at that, and he grinned up at the rebel spy. Cassian smiled back at him, a small but genuine curl of his lips. Those lips moved, and Bodhi’s smile fell away as he realized that he couldn’t hear the gently voiced question over the persistent ringing in his ears. Bodhi saw the realization wash over Cassian’s face, and then his vision blurred with tears.

* * *

Cassian reached out, gently grasping Bodhi’s thigh even as he depressed the call button to summon a medic. Bodhi simply crumpled in on himself, tears streaming unchecked down the shiny new skin of his face. A medic soon arrived, and Cassian explained the trouble the best he could. Even explaining discomfited Cassian though, as it was clear that Bodhi couldn’t hear what he was imparting to the medic. 

“Hearing loss is an expected injury when someone is that close to an explosion,” the medic explained, businesslike but not unkind. “It may be temporary or partial, or he could have complete loss of hearing. We’ll check periodically to see how much hearing he’s lost, and if it improves over time.”

“He seemed to hear me when I called him earlier,” Cassian reported. “At least, he opened his eyes, although, I was calling him fairly loudly.” While hearing wasn’t an absolute necessity to pilot, and there were devices that could aide or facilitate hearing, the idea of Bodhi’s life being permanently altered pained Cassian almost beyond words. 

Bodhi had risked _everything_ to defect. He had left behind everything he knew, had acted against years of indoctrination and fear, all because he believed that delivering Galen Erso’s message to Saw Gerrera was the right thing. Bodhi had acted with impossible courage, and so far his only rewards were disbelief, torture, pain, and a handful of perilous near death experiences.

Again and again Bodhi had volunteered, had guarded Cassian’s back even as Cassian targeted the man who inspired Bodhi to defect. There was no better man, Cassian thought. No man less deserving of long term disability. Cassian pushed the thought away, refusing to entertain the possibility. Bodhi would recover. His hearing would return. It had to.

“Well, there’s definitely hearing loss,” the medic said matter-of-factly, cutting into Cassian’s thoughts. She pulled the datascreen from the foot of Bodhi’s bed and made a few notes, then set it to take dictation so Bodhi could read along as she spoke. “The tympanic membrane was perforated due to your proximity to the blast, it’s not uncommon as blast-related injuries go,” she said, holding the datascreen so Bodhi could read her words. 

“This is what we call a primary injury, the same as any rupture caused by a blast wave, or a concussion. While the long term bacta treatment has partially repaired the membrane, there is still physical damage to the ear structures. It’s possible that the blast caused other injuries that we’ll need more specialized tools to diagnose and treat. We’ll also need to re-run some of the head trauma and brain injury scans, as loss of hearing can often cause a misdiagnosis of cognitive function. Now, Captain Andor said you responded earlier to some auditory stimulus?”

Bodhi nodded, his hands fluttering before he clasped them together in his lap. The medic handed over the datascreen after shifting its functions to accept manual input. Bodhi accepted the datascreen and typed out:

> I HEARD K-2 EARLIER THEN WHEN CASSIAN CALLED MY NAME BUT I WAS LOST IN THOUGHT TOO I COULDNT HEAR OVER THE RINGING WHEN I OPENED MY EYES MY HEAD HURTS AND LIGHT IS TOO BRIGHT

Bodhi handed the datascreen back, and the medic nodded.

“Any dizziness, pain, or pressure in the ear?” the medic asked, and the datascreen typed out. Bodhi nodded, leaning forward to tap a slender finger once against _dizziness_ then again at _pressure_. “Alright. I’ll write up recommendations for in depth auditory and neurological scanning now that you’re awake. Welcome to the _Redemption_ , Lieutenant Rook,” the medic said with a smile, and Bodhi blinked in surprise. Before he could open his mouth though, the medic was gone. At a loss for how else to communicate, Cassian simply reached out and enfolded Bodhi’s slim brown hand in his own.

* * *

A soft, insistent beeping roused Chirrut from his contemplations. He had been meditating after performing his solo exercises, planning to coerce Baze into a proper sparring session after lunch. His husband spent the morning drilling the security forces housed on the _Redemption_ with them. As the Alliance vessel with the most advanced medical facilities, it was where all the surviving members of _Rogue One_ had been berthed in the evacuation of Yavin IV, and they had remained there since, as they were, aside from Cassian, not technically members of the Rebel Alliance. Rising, Chirrut followed the sound to the communications panel. The buttons were touch-labelled, and so he selected the [action] button. 

“Rook, Bodhi has awaken in medbay four,” the digital voice recited. “You have been alerted as next of kin, as designated by Captain Cassian Andor, Intelligence.” Chirrut smiled happily at that, and walked back across the room to find his clothing. His robes had been little more than bedraggled rags by the time they reached the base on Yavin IV, but they had been given spare clothing donated by other members of the Rebellion. 

Baze said the long tunic and loose trousers Chirrut had been given looked like those worn by the nomads of the Jedhan wastes, but Chirrut had never seen them to be able to compare. They were comfortable and he could move well in them, that was all that mattered. Stepping into his shoes, Chirrut picked up his staff, then paused again at the console. He sighed, then ran his fingers over the buttons again before depressing one. 

“Computer, record message, recipient, Baze Malbus,” Chirrut said clearly. “Baze, Bodhi is awake. I am going to find him in medbay. Captain Andor has listed me as his kin, I don’t know if you are listed as well. Medbay four.” With that, he released the button and opened the door. The Living Force flowed through the inhabitants of the ship, and Chirrut let it guide him around the other beings in the corridors. He relied on hearing and touch for droids, walls, and hatches.

Once in the infirmary, Chirrut asked a med-droid for direction. He soon found his way to the appropriate treatment room though, and he could hear - and feel - two beings within. While Bodhi’s Force-presence was not so familiar as Baze’s, it was somewhat familiar. Most Jedhans, no matter where on the moon they were born, were Force-sensitive simply as a product of growing up in a kyber-rich environment. 

While most Jedhans were not so strong in the Force as to become Jedi when that Order had still existed, many were members of the Church of the Force, and trained their Force-sensitivity from childhood. Chirrut, curious, let his own internal grasp of the Force reach out toward the Jedhan signature in the room, and he felt Bodhi’s attention shift to himself. Bodhi gasped softly, and Chirrut nodded in greeting.

“Hello Chirrut,” Cassian Andor greeted, his attention drawn by Bodhi’s, and Chirrut smiled. He had thought the other presence seemed slightly familiar as well, but he hadn’t been entirely certain. It took him a little time to learn the cadences of a new friend, the way their heart and breath moved in time, and the way the Force swirled and eddied about them. Their strange circumstances didn’t help with the acclimatization, as he was also traveling from one new environment to another.

“Hello Captain Andor, hello Bodhi, it seems we are kin,” Chirrut greeted with a smile. 

“I’m afraid Bodhi can’t really hear you,” Cassian said, his voice heavy with dismay. “They say the tinnitus will fade in time, but until it does it would be pointless to fit him with hearing aides.”

“Ah,” Chirrut said, then shifted his weight, leaning his staff against the wall of the room and stepping forward. Finding his way to the bed, he reached out, and Bodhi’s slender hands, bony with lack of meals and slightly too cool, fit gently over his. Chirrut carefully bent his fingers into the forms standardized in the Temple, but later propagated throughout Jedha. _Hello_ Chirrut signed, and Bodhi’s fingers tightened reflexively around his. Bodhi shifted their hands though, and repeated the sign of greeting. 

“Chirrut?” Cassian asked, and Chirrut smiled. 

“In the old days, the Guardians were under vows of silence during certain times to encourage contemplation of the mysteries of the Force,” Chirrut explained. “They developed a sign language to communicate with one another, and later the signs spread throughout Jedha. I wasn’t sure if Bodhi would know them, depending on when he first left Jedha.”

_How old left home?_ Chirrut signed in Bodhi’s palm, and Bodhi carefully signed back:

_Fifteen_ , Bodhi signed, paused then signed more slowly, uncertain of the signs he hadn’t used in so long. _Guardian trained five Jedha years_. Chirrut felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. 

_Travelling Guardian?_ Chirrut signed curiously, and Bodhi signed back in the affirmative.

_T - E - J - E - N - T - A - K - L - M - A - K - A - N_ , Bodhi spelled out. _New not father._

Chirrut grinned broadly at that. After the disbanding of the Guardians at the Empire’s hands, many had become itinerants on Jedha. As celibacy had never been part of their vows, he was unsurprised his brother-monk had settled with a family. And he was even less surprised that said brother monk had trained Bodhi as his apprentice. 

“His step-father is one of my brothers,” Chirrut explained to Cassian. “Tejen trained him for five years before he was taken by the Empire.” Because no son of Jedha would willingly join with their oppressors. Poverty and desire for adventure were the main reason for the high percentage of young Jedhans enlisting, as Imperial occupation had destroyed the economy of their moon, and there was no other way out once the spaceports were embargoed. 

_T - E - J - E - N mother live?_ Chirrut signed, the narrow vocabulary of the sign language making the question slightly awkward.

_Believe yes_ , Bodhi signed back. _Live sand. No home. Father dead digging fixing. Family traveling_.

“His mother and step-father likely still live, as their clan were nomads of the desert,” Chirrut said aloud. “His father died - digging? Fixing? A miner perhaps; before the war, before the Empire came, mining kyber was a good living, and after, well, there was always a market for kyber.” 

“We can send a message, or try at least,” Cassian said, and Chirrut smiled. 

_Send letter?_ Chirrut signed, and instead of a signed response, Chirrut was enveloped in a surprisingly strong hug. He could feel that Bodhi’s hair, like Baze’s, had been shorn off and was regrowing. A short scruffy beard clung to Bodhi’s sharp jaw, and he was far too thin, but Chirrut couldn’t help but beam at the joy emanating from the younger Jedhan. 

“All will be as the Force wills it,” Chirrut murmured in the standardized NiJedhan language. He knew Bodhi likely could not hear the affirmation, and it was possible he wouldn’t understand NiJedhan depending on the dialect he had grown up speaking, but it pleased Chirrut to speak the reassurance aloud.

* * *

Bodhi grinned as he walked slowly behind Cassian to their new quarters. He had learned in the infirmary that while he was in the bacta tank, there had been a battle over Yavin IV, where the main Rebel base had been located, and that the Death Star had been destroyed. They had evacuated Yavin IV shortly thereafter though, and were currently en route to rendezvous with the rest of the Rebel fleet. 

The _Redemption_ medical frigate was their home for now, for all of the surviving volunteers saved from Scarif. Bodhi was among the last to leave the ship’s advanced infirmary, but some were still undertaking physical therapy, which Bodhi would have to complete as well. He felt a bit dazed at the changes his life had so rapidly undergone, and distressingly weak. He had been in bacta for a Standard month though, an incredible length of time, and on bedrest for a Standard week. He had lost a great deal of strength as a result, although he was thankful to even be alive. 

Bodhi had been certain that the grenade would kill him on Scarif. Surviving had been a painful but welcome surprise, and while he hadn’t much thought about the Force in years, his survival and that of the Guardians had inspired a resurgence of his childhood faith. As a young boy, before his father died, Bodhi had dreamt of becoming a Jedi Knight, striding through the known universe and having adventures with a flashing lightsaber in hand. 

When Bodhi was seven, his father, a mechanic and kyber miner, had died in a tunnel collapse, and Bodhi had lost his faith in the aftermath, even as his mother grew more devout, maintaining her daily meditations and insisting Bodhi carry a kyber amulet with him at all times. The addition of his step-father, a former Guardian of the Whills, hadn’t done anything to return Bodhi’s faith, although he had eventually come to care for Tejen and accept some of his more practical and less theological teachings, especially those in hand-to-hand combat and meditation, which helped a great deal with his anxious disposition.

Since waking up, ears ringing and hearing impaired, Bodhi had been spending most of his time with the medics, Cassian, Chirrut, and Baze. Of the other survivors Bodhi knew, evidently Chirrut and Baze had been the most severely injured, and as they weren’t really members of the Rebel Alliance, they didn’t have assigned tasks. Chirrut spent much of his day with Bodhi, meditating and signing with him. Baze signed as well, and had begun teaching the signs to Cassian and the healers. Bodhi had also been given a datascreen with voice to text capability, and he was also rapidly picking up lip-reading, at least on humans speaking Galactic Basic. He could lip-read a little of the NiJedhan dialect as well, courtesy of Chirrut and Baze.

Ahead of Bodhi, Cassian palmed a security lock, and a door slid open. _Capt. Andor_ was written beside the hatch in Aurebesh lettering, and beneath, the room number, _D-1473_. There were two double bunks within, and a charging station at which the refurbished K-2SO was plugged in. Bodhi followed Cassian into the room, and the Rebel gestured at one of the lower bunks, upon which were set some clean clothes, a rollup of tools, and a pair of welding goggles not terribly unlike the pair Bodhi had lost on Scarif. 

On top of the pile of clothing were Bodhi’s kyber crystal amulet and the handful of datachips he’d carried with him. Bodhi was sure that the datachips had been thoroughly read through by the Intelligence officers. He wondered briefly if Cassian had personally scrolled through them, listened to Bodhi’s rambling daily logs and poor attempts at poetry, if he had read the myriad terse flight reports Bodhi had logged transporting this and that here and there for the Empire. 

_Thank you_ Bodhi signed, smiling, and Cassian smiled slightly in return. It was an out of practice expression, not quite fitting on Cassian’s face. All the same, it took five years off him, easing the strain around his eyes and the tension in his jaw. _You smile more_ , Bodhi signed, and Cassian’s brow furrowed, not understanding the signs. 

“S - sm - smile more?” Bodhi managed to say carefully, hoping his mouth was forming the words correctly. His Basic had developed the slick Coruscanti accent common among Imperials, but it had never felt natural in his mouth, not the way Jedhan did. Cassian’s face eased though, into a broader and more natural expression, and Bodhi grinned back happily, pleased to have brought that smile to Cassian’s face.

* * *

Jyn perked up slightly as she saw Cassian enter the mess hall, and waved him over. At her side Shara Bey turned slightly to see who Jyn was waving to, then turned back to Jyn with an eyebrow creeping up her forehead. Jyn snorted softly and shook her head. 

“Just friends, ew,” Jyn snarked, and Shara snorted softly then turned back to the entry way. 

“Oye,” Shara called, and Cassian blinked, then nodded. 

“Shara,” Cassian greeted, “Jyn. I didn’t know you two knew one another.” He looked vaguely worried, Jyn thought as she raised a single shoulder in a lazy shrug.

“I thought it would be good to know another pilot in case I needed a quick escape,” Jyn said nonchalantly, and Cassian narrowed his eyes at her, not sure if she was serious or not. Shara snorted again, then stood, brushing the crumbs from her trousers. 

“I have patrol, I’ll see you later,” Shara told Jyn, then turned to Cassian, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. 

“What?” Cassian asked, raising his hands and leaning back. Shara snorted and shook her head. 

“I thought I was going to meet your boyfriend?” Shara needled.

“Bodhi isn’t my boyfriend,” Cassian argued, but the pinking tips of his ears hinted otherwise. 

“You should do something about that then, considering how much time you spend with him,” Shara suggested, then patted Cassian on the shoulder and sauntered off, pausing only to grab a few packs of light rations to bring with her on patrol.

“I wish you picked someone else to be friends with,” Cassian complained heatlessly, settling across from Jyn at the table.

“So where is Bodhi?” Jyn asked, and Cassian groaned, covering his face with both hands. Jyn snickered into her knuckles, pleased to have earned such a reaction. She wasn’t actually sure that Cassian had a crush on Bodhi, although the time they spent together certainly seemed to indicate an affection beyond the platonic. 

“Meditating with Chirrut and Baze in aquaponics,” Cassian said, displeased but trying not to show that displeasure. Jyn hummed encouragingly, cupping her chin in both palms and giving Cassian an exaggerated look of interest. Cassian scoffed, tossing a crumpled bit of wrapping at her. Jyn wrinkled her nose and leaned back, letting the trash fall into her lap, then brushing it to the floor. 

“I’ll look him up later then. Is it time for your daily ass kicking?” Cassian scoffed again.

“ _Your_ daily ass kicking,” Cassian argued in his accented Basic, and Jyn shrugged. Since they had started sparring, their matches were about even. Jyn was fast and she fought dirty, but Cassian fought dirty too, and had the advantage of reach and weight once he recovered from his injuries. Together, they headed for the rec areas of the _Redemption_.

* * *

Baze sat still, his mind restful and spirit at peace. He had half forgotten in his long-simmering rage, the serenity that came with frequent meditation and acceptance of the Force. His faith still wavered, almost daily, and it was difficult to think of himself as a Guardian of the Whills when their Temple, their _home_ , were gone. But Chirrut had pointed out that Bodhi’s step-father too was a Guardian, that there were likely others of their order wandering Jedha and maybe even further afield. And teaching Bodhi, watching him learn to still himself, it was a true gift. The pilot was open and honest in everything he did, and his earnest joy helped Baze remember that while their lives might be uprooted and filled with danger, there was still good in the world. 

Chirrut’s hand settled on Baze’s knee, and Baze opened his eyes, looking over. A serene smile graced Chirrut’s face, and Baze couldn’t help but smile in return. No, his faith wasn’t the same as it once had been. But Chirrut’s faith was unwavering, and Baze was confident now that that was enough. All would be as the Force willed in time, and he would be at Chirrut’s side until then. Gently, Baze settled his hand on Chirrut’s, squeezing lightly. Chirrut turned his hand beneath Baze’s palm, intertwining their fingers.

_Stop kissing_ Bodhi signed without opening his eyes, and Baze snorted softly. 

“What?” Chirrut demanded, and Baze smiled. 

“Your apprentice wants us to stop kissing,” Baze said gruffly, and Chirrut laughed softly. Leaning forward, Chirrut grasped Bodhi’s knee. Bodhi gave Chirrut his hand, and Chirrut signed in Bodhi’s palm, as was his habit.

“I will kiss my husband when and where I please,” Chirrut said aloud, even as he signed _stop me_ against Bodhi’s hand. Bodhi scoffed softly, shaking his hand and then looking over at Baze. 

_Menace_ Bodhi signed, jerking his head at Chirrut. Baze shrugged, signing the affirmative. Chirrut _was_ a menace, that was part of what made him so endearing. 

_Ear ringing?_ Baze signed now that Bodhi’s attention was on him. It was an almost daily question, and Bodhi just shrugged, waffling his hand back and forth in a so-so motion. Not noticeably improved, but not getting worse, either. That was the usual. There was slow, incremental change in Bodhi’s hearing, but also sharp swings, some days the ringing almost gone, and other days driving him to distraction. The consensus from the medics seemed to be though that the tinnitus would fade in time, and when it did, they would see if a hearing aide would work for Bodhi, or if he needed a more invasive implant to return full hearing.


End file.
